


what we'd invited still remains

by ilfirin_estel



Series: the spnfemslash pact [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/F, Femslash, Post Season 8, spnfemslashpact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilfirin_estel/pseuds/ilfirin_estel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire Novak was born to be an angel’s vessel, but she lives to be a hunter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what we'd invited still remains

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for Jimmy Novak being dead after the finale in Season 4, also some violent content where Claire kills a fallen angel.

Claire Novak was born to be an angel’s vessel, but she lives to be a hunter. Oh, she went to college like her mother told her to, but as soon as the diploma was in her hand, she gathered up her journals and her weapons collection and hit the road. 

Amelia said Jimmy would be so proud of her for being “normal” and going to school, even if it was a two-year community college, but Claire knows that her dad has no idea. Claire woke up screaming from a nightmare about an archangel tearing Castiel and her dad apart—after that, somehow she knew in her gut that Jimmy was in the skipping record that is Heaven.

She used to talk to her mother about the dreams she had—sometimes they were dreams about Castiel’s past, sometimes she suspected they were Castiel’s present—she used to wonder aloud if every angel leaves something behind in the vessel they take, some imprint, some piece of grace, but Amelia would get that shuttered look in her eyes. Slammed doors, _go to your room, Claire._

Claire got used to hiding things after that. Hiding thoughts became hiding books became hiding charms became hiding tattoos became hiding knives. She likes knives, likes the weight of them in her hands, wielding them is ten times easier than firing guns. She thinks maybe that’s something else Castiel left behind.

When the angels fall like a million stars descending across the world, Claire stops dreaming specifically about Castiel and starts dreaming about _all of them._ Fallen angels drowning, fallen angels wandering deserts, fallen angels crawling down mountains, fallen angels lying in fields, confused and cold and alone. 

She hits the road like she’s used to now, drives with the top down and tries not to remember Castiel’s memories of flying as she keeps a lookout for these fallen ones—something in her calls them family, calls them _brothers_ though she’s selective about who she follows up on, who she tries to help. Some of the angels are angry, full of heavenly wrath, railing against their fate. 

She made the mistake of running into one of those types of angels, one who snarled that she was filthy and used before they tried to kill her. She knew their name somehow— _Zephon_ —and they knew that she carried Castiel’s mark in her. 

She doesn’t remember how she managed to win the fight that followed, doesn’t remember stabbing that angel in the chest and watching their short human life fade from their eyes, but there was a body and blood on her hands, and she’ll never get used to that. When she crawled away to vomit in some bushes, she thought _Dad would be ashamed. Castiel would be, too._

She hid the body best she could, scrubbed the blood and dirt from her hands and drove on to where the next dream led.

She’s coaxing a shivering fallen angel— _Abdiel_ —into her blue convertible when company shows up. Two other hunters around her age, armed to the teeth with guns. Even though she knows she’s outmatched, she snatches her knives out of her car and puts herself between them and the angel anyway.

“Whoa there,” the girl in the slightly too-big leather jacket says, holding her hands up in a gesture of peace, though she still holds a handgun in one of her hands. “Look, nobody has to get hurt here. We’re here to help.”

Claire’s blood is ice-cold with fear and adrenaline already and she doesn’t loosen her stance. She quickly sizes up her opponents—the girl with the jacket is sort of slight, but her dark eyes are trained on Claire like a rifle scope. She’s flanked by a taller girl with mocha colored skin who has her own gun pointed at the ground, but the way both of them carry themselves tells Claire they’re formidable, prepared to strike at any moment if necessary. 

“Yeah?” she says, summoning up bravado from somewhere and pushing it into her voice. “Well, save it, we don’t need any help.” 

“You a hunter?” the tall girl asks, neutral. Claire barely shrugs in response.

“I don’t know if you know this, but you’ve got a fallen angel on your hands,” the first girl says, and the smile she gives defaults to a wry sort of smirk. “We know a place for them, a place they can be safe.” 

Claire’s just about to tell them to seriously fuck off, when Abdiel pipes up from behind her, her voice thin and tired. “Are you talking about the bunker?”

Claire startles and looks at the angel clutching her suit jacket around her, sees hope in those eyes—and when she looks back at the hunters, she sees both girls nodding, looking unsurprised. 

“I guess Cas’s message got out to some of you,” the tall one says, and both of them holster their guns. “We’ve got a list of all the angels he thought would be willing to have his help.”

Claire is abruptly furious. Furious that she didn’t hear these summons. Then she remembers she’s not an angel, she’s just an empty backup vessel.  
Cautiously, she lowers her knives as Abdiel climbs out of her car and steps to her side. 

“You mean Castiel,” Claire says, trying to keep her voice flat, trying not to reveal the part of her that’s always been searching for a clear sign, some path to follow to get to him. Ever since Castiel left her, she’s felt like something was missing—the loss twists anger inside her sometimes, anger with him for taking Dad away, for ruining everything. But the other side of the coin is always the memories, the understanding, the empathy. It’s hard to hate someone whose head you’ve sort of been inside. 

“Yeah,” the shorter of the two girls says, looking very interested in Claire all of a sudden. Then she holds her hand out for Claire to shake. “I’m Krissy. And this is Josephine. If you follow us, we can lead you to the bunker.”

The bunker leads to Castiel. Claire swallows hard at that thought then shoves it aside. She glances at Abdiel out of the corners of her eyes, waiting for the angel’s move. If Abdiel wants to go, they’ll go. Claire doesn’t want to think about this decision, what it means. Not now.

When Abdiel tentatively shakes Krissy’s and Josephine’s hands and introduces herself, Claire sheathes her blades and follows suit.

“Nice ride,” Krissy tells her with that cocky smirk that Claire very, very reluctantly finds attractive. 

“Thanks,” Claire replies, taking Krissy’s offered handshake and resisting the urge to squeeze Krissy’s hand hard enough to hurt. Something about this girl automatically raises her hackles—she’s not sure why she wants to show this girl up, but her brain tells her how to take her down, pin her to the dirt and scratchy grass in this field. Wipe that smirk off her face.

Krissy’s eyes narrow at Claire in a way that tells Claire the girl is amused by something. Claire tilts her chin up, feels her jaw clench—and that doesn’t loosen when Krissy steps away and winks at her.

“We’ll see you at the bunker. Try to keep up, sweetheart.”

When Abdiel and Claire climb into her car and drive off, Claire flexes her hands on the steering wheel, the word _sweetheart_ ringing in her ears.


End file.
